


You Never Really Know Someone Until You’ve Lived With Them

by consult_the_potato



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, Established Relationship, F/M, Other, except it's porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:31:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consult_the_potato/pseuds/consult_the_potato
Summary: As McGucket drives, you decide to rest your hand a little above his knee, ignoring the way his face flushes as he argues with Ford about stories from college.Stan’s arm rests behind your head, gripping the back of Fiddleford’s seat as he rolls his eyes at the other two. He leans down to whisper, “You sure you wanna live with this shit? Gets old after a while,” with a smirk. His breath is so close to your skin that it makes you shudder, but you grin at him and nudge him with your elbow, reminding him that you get your fair share of this as just an outsider, and yet you’ve stayed this long. He snickers, leaning back into the seat with a tired sigh as he watches the road go by all the way back to the Shack.





	1. Moving and Grooving

You’d been working in such close proximity with the twins and McGucket, it was nearly obvious that they’d ask you to move in with them. 

“Strictly to negate any more travel time–and costs.” Ford had insisted, but you knew that wasn’t entirely true. In all honesty, you’d found your niche with these guys. Ford likes to lead you on wild goose chase after another, but the way he talks and smiles at you, you can’t help the affection you feel for him. Nor could you with Stan, who’d saved you from more than one instance of near-injury, even when it wasn’t necessary (he still refuses to let you live down the time you nearly ate shit when going down the stairs of the Shack and you landed right into his open arms, the ass). McGucket came with his upsides too, what with his penchant for tuning up your car almost any time your back was turned.

You’ve been enjoying spending the nights with the trio, all close and exciting adventures in the dark, or one too many beers with red cheeks and loud laughter, only to drive home to your cold, damp apartment on the other side of town. It was only a matter of time before they offered you a space of your own in their home, which you’d gladly accepted. Rent was harder to pay each month, with Ford’s grant money running thin. Besides, no one was using the attic for anything, and it was a lovely space, after all. You’d be glad to call it your own.

Moving in, however, was just a mess. You were grateful for McGucket’s pick-up and Stan’s need to out-do his brother in how many boxes he could lug into the bed of the truck at a time, but you could live without Ford’s meticulous cataloging for each box and its contents. He claims it would make everything easier to unpack later, but you weren’t so sure, judging by the contents of your jewelry drawer being shoved into a box alongside your stainless steel kitchenware. To make it a little worse, you were sure you’d heard Stan and McGucket outside hollering at one another, and then a **crash** , following by some hushed whispers. God willing, whatever they broke wasn’t too important. You’d find out a little later, you suppose.

Still, though, you couldn’t complain. They were each helping in their own way.

You’re sitting alone on the floor of your (former) bedroom as you pack up the last of your clothes drawers. You pull open your underwear drawer, tossing various panties and bras haphazardly into a cardboard box, ooh-ing over a few lacy numbers you’d forgotten you’d ever bought. The lace is cool and nice under your fingers, and you wonder why you never wear these. You toss them in, reach into the drawer for any more, but frown as your fingers close over something cool and hard to the touch.

Pulling your hand from the drawer, your eyes widen. Shit, you must’ve bought this the same time you bought those lacy undies. It’s a nice weight in your hand; A little big for you, maybe, but it still works nicely. You punch the bottom once, twice, raising your brows at how loud the vibration is.

It’s at that moment your front door bursts open, Fiddleford and Stan cackling amongst each other whilst Ford reminds them of the boxes stacked in the corner of the kitchen that need taking outside. You fumble for a couple of seconds, a little too klutzy as you nearly drop the vibrator onto the hardwood floor. Footsteps get a little closer as you punch the button three more times, cringing at how much louder each setting is.

You finally get it to turn off as Stan’s arm peeks through your doorway, and you chuck the damn thing into the box with the pretty lace in it. You’re quick to rearrange the fabric to cover it just as Stan’s head pops into the room, grin wide on his face.

“Hey sweets, you know we can’t load more shit into the car if you don’t have it packed, right?” His brow is a little damp and so is his shirt, probably from the exertion of loading up the truck. He’s looking at you expectantly, then down at the box at your legs. “See! Just gotta pack ‘em faster than I can take ‘em!” Stan reaches down, realizes what’s in the box, then looks back up at you with a bigger grin than before.

“ _Oh_ , so you’ve been holding out on us!” Stan’s nearly yelling, obviously trying to playfully embarrass you. You laugh back at him, covering up the box as he moves to pluck something from it.

Ford’s head pops into the doorframe now, eyebrow cocked. “What are you raving about?” It’s a rare moment where he’s wearing a t-shirt, which is such a good look for him. He’s gotten bulkier since college, which you’re grateful for, since it’s made moving easier.

He looks at Stan, then at you. Shaking his head but smiling fondly, he crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You should be packing!”

“C’mon, Sixer! Can’t we have a little fun?” He’s grinning at you, trying to dodge around your arm to snatch anything from the box. You bat away his arm, pushing him aside with a grin as you close up the box. 

You reach under your bed, finding a marker and writing ‘ **KEEP OUT** ’ in big, blocky letters on the box. You smirk, leaning bodily over it as he crosses his arms with a mock pout. 

“Alright, alright, get to work.” Ford’s hands are on yours, pulling them away from the box and picking it up, placing it on his shoulder to keep it away from his brother, and offering you a hand. He pulls you up, smiling down at you. “I think we should be done and out of here by dinner.” His free arm is around your shoulder, and he squeezes you a quick hug. 

You lean against him with a smile as Stan pouts at you and Ford, rolling his eyes, “Y’know, I can handle a dinky li’l box full of undies just fine, Poindexter.” He swipes to grab at it, but Ford ducks away with a grin, releasing you and swiftly moving into the living room.

“Ford, glad to see you finally pullin’ some weight.” Fiddleford teases him as he watches the two of you come from your room. In his hands is another box (labeled 1LRC?? You hope Ford is at least writing down what’s in these things), he seems to be struggling with. You nudge Ford out of your way as he throws some snide remark to Stan, and smile over at Fiddleford. He smiles back, shifting the cardboard in his arms as he walks from the apartment once more.

They really are a helpful bunch.

It’s only another half-hour until your apartment is empty and you’re crammed into the little pick-up truck, smushed between Fiddleford and Stan. There’s barely enough room for your ass in the seat, and you can’t figure out what to do with your hands. As McGucket drives, you decide to rest your hand a little above his knee, ignoring the way his face flushes as he argues with Ford about stories from college.

Stan’s arm rests behind your head, gripping the back of Fiddleford’s seat as he rolls his eyes at the other two. He leans down to whisper, “You sure you wanna live with this shit? Gets old after a while,” with a smirk. His breath so close to your skin that it makes you shudder, but you grin at him and nudge him with your elbow, reminding him that you get your fair share of this as just an outsider, and yet you’ve stayed this long. He snickers, leaning back into the seat with a tired sigh as he watches the road go by all the way back to the Shack.

—-

“I’m telling you, Suzie Pfeffernil was never interested in me, she only wanted my notes on biochemistry.” Fiddleford continued arguing with Ford as they grunted under the weight of your bed frame, lugging it upstairs. You followed close behind with two boxes in your arms. After lugging your heavy oak dresser and a few other boxes up to the attic, the four of you agreed that most of your things could wait until morning. But, you wanted to at least start unpacking before you were forced to live out of the boxes for months.

“Are you _kidding_ me? Or are you just that dense?” The corners of Ford’s lips perk up despite himself as he argues back with Fiddleford, the both of them setting down your bed frame and looking at one another incredulously (Ford’s arms crossed across his chest, Fiddleford’s hands on his hips, Stan and you, snickering quietly as you try to sneak past them).

“Y’don’t remember it as well as I do! You forget anything you don’t write in your journal.” McGucket’s starting to smile, too, jabbing a finger into Ford’s chest. Ford’s smirking now, rolling his eyes. “Right, _I’m the forgetful one._ ”

“Hey! Could’ya both shut the hell up and grab a couple allen wrenches to put that thing together?” Stan motions to the pieces of bed frame laid on the hardwood floor, joining you in setting boxes down in the corner. 

“I’ve got an experiment waiting for me downstairs, actually,” Ford starts, walking to you and laying a hand on your shoulder, “If there’s anything you need, you know where to find me.” He grins and squeezes your shoulder gently. As you look up at him, you notice he’s slightly disheveled from the move, his eyes a little more tired than usual. You smile back and nod, reminding him with a gentle shove to eventually go to bed tonight. He waves you off, explaining, “So much science, so little time, dear.” before heading back downstairs. 

McGucket crosses his arms with a crooked frown now, shaking his head. “Well, th’boxspring and mattress are still in the bed of my truck. I reckon you’d like those to sleep on tonight, right?” He asks, looking at you from over the rims of his glasses. When you nod, he grumbles something about giving Ford what’s-for in the morning. 

“I’ll help you get everything situated.” Stan offers, distractedly tracing the letters on the top of a box. He looks up at you and smiles, shaking his head. “You look tired as hell, sugar.”

You nod, pushing hair from your face. Your shoulders hurt from all the heavy lifting, and you feel the dried sweat from the day, all itchy and gross under your clothes.

You must have made a face, because Fiddleford chuckles at you as you’re pulling at the hem of your shirt. “Darlin’, you go ahead ‘n clean yerself up. You know where the shower is, might as well move into the bathroom now.” He smiles at you, motioning for Stan to follow him back to the truck.

“We’ll take care of puttin’ your bed together, alright?” Stan grins over at you, bumping you gently with his hip as he walks closer. “‘Sides, you stink somethin’ fierce, toots.” He wrinkles his nose for effect, but can’t stop the crooked grin planted at his lips.

You laugh as you yell at him to get out, playfully chucking a pillow from an open box at him. He and Fiddleford laugh, hands raised in surrender as they leave your room, closing the door behind them. You hear them chuckling down the hall and smile to yourself, shaking your head as you grab the pillow you threw and put it back on top of the box it was from. 

You move around the room, opening a box or two to double-check its contents, then stop at the underwear box from earlier. Opening one of the drawers from the chest brought up earlier, you chuck a few handfuls of undies in. Your fingers brush against the vibrator from before, and you look down at it for a moment, thinking.

_Well…it’s been a long day, right?_

Trying not to put too much thought into your movements, you grab the toy, then look around for your towels and bathroom stuff. You wrap the toy up in the towel, and further cover it with the bottles of shampoo and body wash in your hands. You shake your head at yourself, realizing this is damn crazy, but you open your bedroom door and make a beeline for the bathroom.

You make it safely, sighing as you lean against the closed door. You know from experience that this door is the least secure in the house, so you triple check that it’s closed before putting the accessories in your hands to their rightful place, finally landing on the vibe and deciding to leave it on the edge of the tub. You eye it almost nervously as you undress, tossing the clothes haphazardly to the floor and then moving to turn on the hot water.

You hear Stan and F on the other side of the door, grumbling beneath the weight of your mattress. You turn your head to double check the door again before snatching up the toy and stepping into the shower.


	2. Stanley

You’re lying on the floor of the tub, hot water hitting your calves as you work the toy between your legs. You feel the tension of the day relax in your shoulders and legs, building elsewhere as you sigh at your own hand. 

You can hear the men across the hall in your room, maybe a little louder than before. Just in case, you push the shower curtain away slightly and crack open an eye to look at the door. You swear quietly at the sight of shower steam escaping through the door frame. The heat from the shower must’ve made the wood swell in such a way, the door is cracked just slightly open. Your worry is forgotten, though, replaced with a slight urgency from between your legs. 

You bite back a groan, your chest tightening as you hear a voice coming closer, that laugh so familiar.

“Ah, sorry toots! Don’t mind me, Ford’s got the other bathroom occupied and I’ve gotta piss like no other.” Stan’s voice is outside the door, then inside the door as you catch a glimpse of him taking a step in, hands already undoing his belt, “Promise I’ll be gentlemanly, won’t look at ya or nothin’.” 

You can see and hear the smirk on his face, but the only reply you can muster is a quiet whimper, hips beginning to stutter against your hand. He lied, apparently, since his eyes drift to the corner of the shower curtain, locking with yours. In a moment, you see his gaze turn to worry, turning to face you. “Sugar, did you fall? Or--!” Stan’s eyes widen and you see his throat bob, taking a step back. It must be obvious, from how his face is reddening. “I-I’m..” 

You open your mouth to apologize or yell at him, just _something,_ but the tension between your legs overtakes you, spilling over and you just close your eyes as you ride it out. A quiet whimper escapes your throat and you can hear him breathing as you come, a soft gasp as he watches you unwind.

Face hot from embarrassment and steam, you finally peel your eyes open. He’s still standing there, his arousal apparent at his unbuckled jeans. His cheeks are flushed, his mouth slightly agape, and even in your embarrassment, you just want to kiss that look off his face. But, neither of you move for a moment, both of you still and breathing in the steam of the bathroom. 

“Stanley! Iffin’ ya don’t mind, I need some help with this damn bedframe!” Fiddleford’s voice cuts through the silence filling the room from across the hall, making the both of you jump. Stan swears, adjusting himself in his jeans as he rebuckles the belt. He gives you another glance, his tongue darting between his lips as he turns to leave. Within that gaze, though, you could swear there’s a darkness behind those amber eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, be right there.” He calls back, his voice surprisingly calm. He gives you one more dark look before closing the door behind him, leaving you alone once more.

You’re unsure what this means between the two of you, but the water is starting to go cold, so you decide to just wash your hair and get out before anyone else decides to barge in.

\-----

For a couple weeks, nothing seems to have changed. Stan hasn’t said anything to the other two, and jokes around with you the same way as he did before you moved in, but you can’t help but feel like something may be amiss.

You continued your work with Ford and McGucket, grateful for your new living space when they decide to argue with one another in the lab. It’s easier to escape their loud voices this way, announcing you’d see them in a few hours and walking up the stairs instead of sitting around, waiting for them to stop. 

You realize you haven’t seen Stan in a few hours and you frown, coming through the door into the house. You pad through the kitchen and grab a can of Pitt from the fridge, and another just in case you do run into Stan. You start up the stairs to the attic but stop cold in the hall before the next flight of stairs, hearing a groan from down the hall. Curious, you step lightly across the wood floors, greeted with a soft huff of breath as you get closer. 

Stan’s bedroom door is cracked open and you see his silhouette, sitting on the edge of his bed. His head is thrown back, seeming not to see you. Your eyes scan the curve of his throat, then down his chest and body. You swallow hard, realizing his hand is at his lap, and _moving._

You turn your head away, the cold of the cans of soda in your hands starting to burn as you move to leave. You hear him groan and feel your skin flush, taking one step, then two, then stopping in your tracks when you hear the groan again, sounding so much like your name on his lips.

You clench your fingers around the cans once more, breathing shakily as you step closer, looking into the crack of the door. Your stomach flips at the sight of him, hair mussed like he’s been pulling his fingers through it, lips red and wet from being bitten. His eyes are closed, his fist pumping quickly at his groin as he sighs your name once more. For a second, you swear that he’s smirking, but the thought dissipates with another groan, louder than the first. 

He must be close, you think, with how his chest heaves from the activity. Your face is flushed, and you feel a heat pooling in your stomach as you watch him. His hair falls into his face and he grunts quietly, looking down at his lap and then his head snaps up, eyes meeting yours.

He knows you’re there, and he knows you’ve been watching him. It’s all written on his face, the flush of his cheeks down to his chest, the darkness in his eyes, and the tug of a smirk at his lips. You bite your lip and swallow hard, raking your eyes down his body as he watches you. The look itself makes him groan, inhaling sharply through his teeth as he starts to teeter over the edge. 

You’re closer to the door frame now, standing in the crack of the door. You whisper for him to _come, please,_ and he does, with his mouth agape and his eyes fluttering deliciously closed. His hips shallowly buck against his hand a few more times before he lays back on his bed, panting and sweaty. 

Not necessarily wanting to have this conversation this moment, you put the can of Pitt on the floor in his room, then turn to walk to your bedroom. Although you definitely need to have a conversation at some point, the more pressing matter between your legs is preferable in this moment. 

\----

The creaks and groans of the attic at night are terrible, especially in the rain. You woke up two big thunderclaps ago, and when you try to turn on the lamp at your bedside table, it clicks to no avail. _Great, so the power’s out._

You stand, using lightning bolts through your window to light your way around your bedroom to find some shorts and a pair of socks. Looking around, you spy your flashlight hanging on your closet door. Halfway through walking to the closet, your sock lands in a wet patch. You grimace and look up, a drop of water comically splatting right on your forehead. You grumble and wipe away the wet, hopping on one foot and peeling off your socks because wet socks are the worst. 

You grab the flashlight and start heading downstairs, looking around to see if anyone else is awake. With the light, you round the corner and spy Stan’s door open. 

“Sugar..?” His voice comes from his room, sounding like gravel from sleep. He’s sitting up in bed and looking at you, but you can tell he’s been awake for a little while, too. You quietly pad into his room, looking at him with a frown.

“Heh,” he smiles at you, sleep in his eyes, “Storm woke you, too? Seems like Ford and McGucket are dead to the world, thank god.” Stan scoots over on his bed, motioning for you to come and sit beside him. You do, feeling his residual warmth on the comforter beneath you. You watch rain fall from the window, turning off your flashlight. 

It’s the first time the two of you have been alone since you walked in on him, and there is a quiet tension in the room as you sit together. You can tell he’s staring out of the corner of your eye, and you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck.

You apologize, not meeting his eye. You explain that _it was an accident when he walked in on you, and you got carried away, and that when you walked in on him it was the same kind of deal, and you’re rambling oh god oh god._ His hand is on yours in an instant, squeezing it in an attempt to get you to look at him. When you do, he smiles kindly.

“Y’know, the first time, it was entirely my fault. But, ah...You didn’t seem to mind. And I really didn’t mind either, so…” It’s his turn to blush, and you smile at him, not used to seeing him so bashful. “So, the second time happened, and that was...Kinda dumb luck on my end. Imagine if McGucket or Ford had walked by instead of you, oh _god._ ” And then you’re both laughing at the idea, and he’s covering his face with both hands as he laughs. He’s just so cute, dammit.

You pull his hands from his face, realizing he’s much closer than you originally thought. He looks at you with warm, curious eyes at the gaze you give him. You smile back, lifting his hands to your lips and kissing both of his palms. He watches you, head tilted as you lower his hands again. 

He breathes quietly, leaning closer to you before his hands leave yours, fingers landing at your waist. “This don’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, babe. None of it does.” 

You open your mouth to say something, but you’re interrupted by his mouth against yours. Your hands land on his chest, the broadness warm beneath your fingers. His tongue finds yours and you feel his groan reverberate in his chest. You hum against his lips and move to settle into his lap, your legs on either side of his thighs. His arms snake around your middle and pull you closer into his chest. 

You gasp, and as you pull back, his teeth close around your bottom lip, sucking gently as he holds you close. You feel a groan bubble up in your throat, but it’s drowned out by the thunder outside. You pull back, burying your face into his neck and planting kisses to the skin there.

His hips press up against you as your teeth graze his skin, and you smirk against him as you press your hips down, grinding against him. His moan is so sweet to your ears, one of his hands coming up to rest at the nape of your neck. His fingertips tease at your hair, tilting your head gently to press his lips close to your ear. 

“Sugar, you’ve gotta tell me what you want, you know that.” He looks up at you from beneath his lashes, his pupils blown either from the darkness or the arousal. The hand previously at your waist now toys at the hem of your shorts, his eyes raking over your body appreciatively. He bites his lip as he meets your eye once more, eyebrows raised.

You hastily nod, moving off his lap momentarily to tug away your shorts. As you move away, he chuckles, mumbling something about you being excitable, but he’s already peeling away his boxer shorts himself.

When you straddle him again, his fingers are brushing up against your heat, the pad of his thumb circling at the tender nub between your legs. You groan, pushing your hips down just slightly, only allowing his tip. He groans now, shaking his head.

“Damn babe, okay, no teasing, _fuck._ ” His hands land at your hips and he squeezes them, rutting his hips up to grind against your heat. You grin at him, planting a kiss at his lips as you lower yourself onto him. The long, low groan that escapes his lips fuels the heat in the pit of your stomach. It takes all of his self-control not to thrust up into you all at once, and you see it in his screwed-up face. When he’s fully sheathed, he sighs, slowly opening his eyes to look up at you. His mouth is slightly agape, the edge of a smile tilting up the corners of his mouth. 

“You’re so pretty, sugar.” His voice is a whisper as he starts moving his hips against yours, gripping your hips tightly. You move quicker against him, encouraging him to move faster, but he slows you down, leaning in and kissing bruises into your neck. You whine in the back of your throat, your fingers pushing into his hair. 

Stan’s hips roll up into yours, reaching his hand up to his mouth to give his thumb a quick lick before pressing the cool pad of the digit to your clit once more. He groans, feeling you tighten against him as his hips work quicker into you. His free hand reaches beneath your shirt, nimble fingers teasing at your nipple. 

The warmth of his hands on your body is becoming overwhelming, but you can’t stop leaning into it. Stan’s lips leave your neck, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. A lazy smile rests at his lips, only disappearing with a groan as he snaps his hips up into you. His free hand comes up to your shoulder, holding you chest to chest. 

He leans into you, pressing his forehead against yours with a grunt. His eyes are screwing shut, panting as his fingers toy at your clit. You feel yourself say his name before you hear it, both hands holding him at the nape of his neck as you lose control. He comes not long after, your orgasm ultimately driving him to his own.

You move from his lap and lay on his bed, yawning as you pull him down with you. He laughs quietly, letting himself be pulled into the comforter. His head rests against your chest, planting small kisses onto your breasts. Your fingers tease at his hair, brushing through the locks as the two of you catch your breath, watching the rain fall as you rest in each other's arms.


	3. Stanford

The toy packs so much more of a punch than you remember. You’re breathless as you lean against the wall of the shower, panting as you begin to teeter over the edge for a second time.

It’s just as good as the first (if not embarrassingly soon), hips stuttering and knees buckling under your own weight. In an instant, pleasure turns to panic as you nearly fall in the tub. You manage to catch yourself, but in the scramble to stay upright, you knock down some bottles of shampoo and body wash, the violently vibrating toy crashing to the floor as well.

You swear as you fumble to reach it, willing no ears to hear the intense clattering of a vibrator at its highest setting on the floor of a bathtub. You finally manage to snatch it up and turn it off, tense and still panting.

There’s a long moment of silence, only filled by your slowing breaths and the water falling from the shower head. Ford’s voice travels up the stairs, calling with concern, “Everything alright?”

You shout back a reply, cringing at the squeak in your voice as you do. He doesn’t reply, so you hope that answer was enough for him.

Finally having caught your breath, you reach down for the shampoo next, squeezing out a handful and massaging it into your hair before _carefully_ setting it back where it belongs.

—

Unpacking boxes between daily outings is proving more and more difficult, since having you there all hours of the day seems to encourage Ford to drag you to a new cave or to see a new creature any time he thinks about it for too long. Admittedly, though, you’ve been slacking a little bit when it comes to any actual work being done. Your desk in the lab has been bare for a couple weeks now, but you’ve been busy with moving and the boys, so who could blame you?

After all, you needed some alone time every now and then too, right?

Ford’s been notably absent this afternoon, you realize with a frown. After putting a couple more books on your bookshelf and closing the box on the rest of them, you wipe your hands on your jeans, calling his name as you come down the stairs to try and find him.

After a couple of tries with no answer, you head down to his lab, peeking your head around the corner. You sigh with relief, about to get onto him for not listening better before your voice stops in your throat at the sight of him.

You catch him at a profile view, his hair mussed and hanging just so over his glasses. Cheeks flushed, he’s looking at something on the desk in front of him, not paying you any mind. You scan lower down his body, his throat bobbing as his lips fall open with the _softest_ sigh. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbow, careless and hasty and going to wrinkle, but he’s palming his groin through his pants, his thumb running over what you would assume is the head of his cock through the fabric.

You’re so tense as you stand and watch him, almost slack-jawed at the sight of him. He’s so beautiful, you want him to have that look on his face all the time. It’s a moment before you realize how sticky the situation could be if you are found out. Your own face burning, you take a silent step back, pressing into the wall of the hallway to not draw any attention to yourself.

Deciding to better announce your arrival into the room, you cough a couple times, giving him a moment before you come back into the room. You try to ignore the choked gasp that escapes his lips, pressing your thighs together to quell the building heat as you stand mere feet away from him. You step once, then twice at the ground, hoping for the illusion of footsteps coming closer as you call for him, asking if he’s in here.

There’s quiet shuffling of papers and swearing, then silence. He clears his throat, “I’m here,” before you decide walk into view.

His ears are a little pink, but if you weren’t so painfully aware of why he was embarrassed, you wouldn’t notice.

You try not to think about any other times you hadn’t noticed him like this.

“Finally getting settled in, you think?” His voice wavers just the slightest bit, but his smile doesn’t falter. He scoots aside a bit as you walk closer, looking up at you as you walk to join him near his desk. 

You shrug with a smile, trying not to be obvious as you scan his desk for whatever he was ogling at before. His cheeks are still flushed when you sit on the edge of the wood, not finding what you’re looking for, but noticing a thicker stack of papers beneath some sort of blueprint. _Magazines, huh? Classy._

You nod, agreeing that your room is finally starting to feel like your own space and he chuckles, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand, smushing his cheek against his fist and making his smile even more crooked. 

“I was almost worried you would complain about a smell up there. When we trapped those gnomes up there that one week in spring, they made an absolute mess of everything.” He laughs through his words, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looks up at you.

You make a face and he laughs more, shaking his head. That week was…gruesome, you recall, and you had noticed some teeth marks in the wood paneling on the wall. He’s laughing harder now, and you realize you’d relayed your discovery outloud. After a second, you laugh with him.

You look down at him, hair mussed and eyes sleepy, but with that smile you can’t help but mirror. He is a handsome man, really. When you tilt your head at him as he laughs, he almost seems to move closer, his elbow resting on his desk just inches from where your thigh sits. It’s almost tempting, to lean down and kiss the laugh from his lungs and you wonder if you might wrestle another groan out of him. 

He looks up at you, his laugh fading away with almost a question in his eye, but you smile and pat his shoulder, getting up from his desk with the reminder that he _should go to bed sooner than later, god knows how long you’ve been awake Ford Pines._

Ford huffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head as you take your leave back upstairs, calling up for you to do the same.

–

Silence has overtaken the Shack in the darkest part of the night, and you assume your roommates are either asleep or out somewhere in the forest trying to find something to kill them. Either way, the moonlight shines through the little triangular window and illuminates your room as you sit up on your bed, awoken by some weird dream you can’t remember now that you’re out of it.

You rub sleep from your eyes, hiding a yawn behind the back of your hand as you do. You sit for a moment, taking in the silence and the loneliness of the quiet bedroom. You frown at the thought, but as you settle back against your pillow, your eyes stay open, not tired a bit. 

A few moments of frustration later, you toss and turn before giving up, throwing the covers from your legs as you open the drawer of your bedside table, rummaging around until the cool, hard plastic lands at your fingertips. There’s almost the hint of a smile at your lips as you pull it out, eyeing it in the moonlit room. You shrug, deciding in the stillness of the night that if you can’t just go back to sleep, you’ll just wear yourself out and go back to bed satisfied instead of tired.

Turning on the toy, you wriggle out of your pajama shorts and underwear. You sigh as you push it inside yourself slightly, then a little more, biting your lip to stifle the noise as you get used to the sensation. In your mind, you can almost clearly see Ford at his desk a few weeks back, blushed and panting at his own hand. You try to shake the image from your mind, embarrassed for a moment before a shudder moves through your body.

You sigh at the sensation, closing your eyes as the image of Ford’s flushed, desperate expression dances in your imagination. You imagine him looking at you with that desperation, a whimper just barely at his lips as his hand moves at his lap. 

You suck in a breath between your teeth, a groan escaping low in your throat as the vibration courses through your body. Your hips move in tandem against your wrist, circling the toy as you imagine Ford’s body so close to yours, his lips on your skin. You imagine how he would sigh against your skin, how his hips would roll into yours, how his brows would furrow as he– _oh fuck, Ford._ You groan his name as the heat in the pit of your stomach begins to boil over, swallowing hard as your hips stutter.

It’s at this moment, you hear the creak of the floorboard just outside your door, the shifting of weight from one foot to another, and the softest, faintest question of your name coming from your door. 

You freeze and pull the toy away from yourself, your eyes wide and fixed at your open door. The man you were so desperately calling for stands in the open doorway, his face red and his breathing heavy. You open your mouth to say something, then close it, unsure of what to say. You almost yell for him to leave, or shut the door, or just, _something, oh god how long has he been there._

He clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something, but closes it as well. He looks bashful, yet there is something in his gaze that makes your stomach flip. 

“I-I’m sorry, I heard you say my name and thought you maybe needed help, o-or if you…I’m not sure, but I, uhm.” He’s blushing and not meeting your eye, but he isn’t leaving your room, either. You are so embarrassed, you can’t move. The tightness of anxiety fills your chest, but you purse your lips and watch him silently, watching him plan his next words carefully. He glances up at you and his lips part, taking a shaky breath before he speaks again.

“Were…Were you thinking of me? While you were..?” He sounds almost breathless, clearing his throat once more. As he speaks, he motions to the toy in your hand, his eye meeting yours with an unreadable sort of gaze. His adam’s apple bobs when you nod, and he bites into his bottom lip. A hand comes up to sheepishly rub at the back of his neck and he shifts from one foot to the other, looking anywhere but at you. In the moonlight, you can see him fully, in just a t-shirt and jeans, maybe he’d just come home when you’d distracted him? He seems not to be too bothered by any of this, if the bulge at the front of his pants tells you anything. You flush, realizing what a mess you must look like, but it really is his fault that he’s seeing you this way, since he didn’t have the decency to knock.

“What was I doing? For you?” The question is quiet from his lips, his tone even as he moves further into the room, floorboards creaking under his weight. He uses his foot to close the door behind him, casting a furtive glance your direction with a small smile playing at his lips.

You blink once or twice before you realize, _oh my god, he’s into it,_ and you flush once again, stammering a few quick words before taking a breath. Eyebrows raised, his smile has changed into a playful smirk, and he starts to move closer toward your bed. Your heart feels like it just might stop, but you continue to explain what he was doing in your mind’s eye. You describe his hands on your skin and his mouth against yours, desperate and wanting. His cheeks are red, the blush traveling up to his ears, and his eyes are closed. One fist is balled up and resting at his mouth, gnawing at his knuckle. His lips rest slightly parted, the plushness of them so inviting, yet he’s so far away still. He’s breathing hard, and you can tell he’s imagining his end of this fantasy of yours. The sight of him this way reignites the pit of your stomach and you swallow, courage filling your chest as you reach toward him with one hand, motioning for him to join you at your mattress.

His eyes flutter open as your fingers graze the knuckle of his free hand and he takes your invitation, allowing you to pull him to the edge of your bed. He sits on the comforter, inches from your leg as he looks at you, intrigued, yet sheepish still. You let your fingers linger on his arms for a moment too long, bringing your hand to twist at the hem of your worn t-shirt. Ford bites his lip as his eye follows your hand, catching a flash of your bare thigh before landing at the hem of your shirt. He swallows, rubbing his palms flat against the thighs of his jeans. 

“If you don’t mind,” he starts, his voice more confident than his appearance gives on, “I’d like for you to continue.” You look up at him with raised brows as he speaks, your mouth hung open like you’d reply, but nothing comes forth. A dark look crosses his features, the moonlight reflection in his eyes bright as you notice how blown his pupils are. “I have, ah, minimal experience in this field. I would like to _observe_ you,” he leans closer, and you can feel his breath against your cheek as he whispers, “to see what effect I have on your body.”

You lean forward slightly, to try and catch his lips with your own, but he turns his chin slightly, instead allowing you a good look at his throat. “Go on, please.” He encourages, a slight wobble in his voice. Your fingers move from the hem of your shirt as you readjust the pillows behind you, lying back against them while now slightly propped up, just to give him a better look.

He’s patient as he watches you, the bulge at the front of his pants persistent still. Your stomach warms at the thought of him, _beautiful wonderful him_ , being aroused by the thought of _you_ , and it gives you the courage to reach for the toy once more, gripping the cool plastic in your hands as you bring it back under the comforter. One of his hands rests at the edge of the blanket, giving you a questioning gaze. You realize he means to fully watch the process and you exhale, nodding for him to remove the blanket. It’s rather warm in these circumstances, anyway. 

Ford pulls the fabric from your form, eyes wide at the scene beneath. He exhales shakily as he watches you push the button on the toy, the deafening buzz starting up suddenly. As you ease it into yourself once more, a choked sort of whine escapes your throat without your knowledge, only hearing it echoed from the man seated at the edge of your bed. You look up at him with concern, but he is too focused on your ministrations, watching your fingers manipulate the toy into yourself. He’s redfaced, with a balled up fist returning to his lips and his teeth digging into his knuckle like before, but it’s his other hand you’re more interested in. 

You watch him splay an open palm against the front of his jeans, giving one or two ruts against his hand and groaning at the relief of friction. A smile plays at your lips between thrusts, happy to know that you’re affecting him in the same way. You work at yourself with the toy, feeling your warmth building as you grind against the vibration. The desperation across his face in your mind doesn’t compare to the flushed and sweating man in front of you, gnawing at his fist to keep himself quiet as he watches you. 

He looks away from your hips, locking into your gaze with a lazy smile at the corners of his lips. Ford’s hand unravels and he raises a brow at you, tugging gently at the hem of your t-shirt. Wordlessly, you nod, the fabric of your shirt coming up and over your head, tossed somewhere unimportant (for now). Adoration flickers in his gaze as his eyes rake over your chest, his mouth slightly agape. His throat bobs as he raises his fingers to his lips and licks at the tip of his thumb, tentatively bringing the digit down to your breast and rolling the nipple gently between his fingers. You gasp at the touch and he grins, a pleased hum rumbling from his chest while he looms over you. Deft fingers caress the soft skin at your breast and you shudder at the sensation, pushing your chest toward him. He seems confident in his movement, yet the trembling of his hand betrays him.

Your eyes flutter closed, a sigh escaping your lips as you roll your hips against the toy. You hear him shift on the bed and feel his weight settle closer now, and you open one eye just enough to see his head duck down, taking your nipple between his lips. You groan, eyes fluttering closed once more as his tongue laves at your skin, releasing the nipple with a soft _pop_ and moving to suck at the other one. A ragged moan escapes him as he moves his lips against your skin, and you feel his smirk rather than see it. You sigh his name, your fingers working quickly as the vibrations bring you closer to the edge.

Six fingers wrap around the wrist at your groin, gently guiding the toy away and pressing the button to off. You groan at the loss of contact, opening your mouth to ask why but he silences you with his lips against yours, his teeth toying at your bottom lip. He surges forward now, moving so his knees are on either side of you, straddling you as his tongue explores your mouth. You arch your back, pressing your chest up against his, deciding all at once that it’s absolutely unfair that he’s got you nude and he’s still fully dressed.

Ford, however, doesn’t seem to mind his state of dress. As his mouth works against yours, you tug at the hem of his t-shirt. He gets the hint, smiling against your lips as he lets you pull the fabric over his head and chuck it to the floor. When he emerges again, his glasses are slightly askew and his hair is a little more mussed. You giggle quietly, adjusting his glasses on his nose and holding his face in your hands, pressing a kiss to his nose. He leans into the touch and smiles down at you before pressing a kiss to your jaw, nibbling down your neck, and moving lower.

“You are a _marvel_ , darling,” He whispers against your skin, slight stubble itching at your chest as he works his way down your body. He smooches your rib, then down your stomach. The bed shifts under his weight as he wriggles further down, the stubble of his cheeks rubbing against your inner thigh as he brushes kiss after kiss to the skin there. “An anomaly, even. So beautiful, so precious.” Ford flashes a winning smile up at you from between your legs, tilting his head slightly as his fingers run gently against your hip bones. His eyes shine with the moonlight glinting off his glasses, mischief in his gaze as he ducks his head from your sight.

You feel the choked noise that comes from your throat before you hear it as his tongue explores at your folds. You fingers meet the base of his scalp, his hair curling around your digits as his head moves between your legs. His cheeks are warm against your skin, and you catch him looking up at you over the rims of his glasses, his eyes hooded. As his tongue pushes into you, you feel your body starting to tense around him, a groan escaping his open mouth and rumbling against you. His tongue envelops your clit, teasing there as one of his fingers dips between your folds, curling to hit right– _god yes right there, Ford, please._ You stutter his name and he pushes in a second finger, fucking them into you as your hips buck against his mouth. The heat in your stomach spills over, his tongue working alongside his fingers as you come.

He pulls back, straddling you once more as he pulls his fingers from you, popping them into his mouth without a second thought to suck them clean. You catch your breath, gracious for the moment he gives you until it’s cut short by his teeth at your neck, his breathing ragged as his fingers work at his belt. 

“Need you,” he pants, and your fingers move from his hair to help him pull away his jeans. You smirk as he gasps, your knuckles apparently grazing against his clothed erection too closely. He wrangles the fabric down his legs, then tugs at his boxers unceremoniously, tossing them away as he lowers himself against your body, his mouth sucking bruises into the crook of your neck. 

“You’re sure this is alri–mmph!” You silence him with your lips crashing into his, reaching down to align his cock between your legs, nodding to encourage him to move. His ragged breath as he rolls his hips into yours tells you he’s already close, and the heat of his hands find your ass, lifting you from the bed just slightly to fuck into you fast, then faster. You say his name again, kissing at his jaw as your hand snakes back to the nape of his neck, teasing at his hair as you mumble _how gorgeous you are, Stanford Pines, so desperate and so beautiful._

His orgasm comes not long afterward, hips bucking into you with a close-eyed, open-mouthed groan that you fear may wake the rest of the house, but damn if you care. He pulls away from you and brushes his lips against your neck, fumbling near the foot of the bed to grab his underwear and slip them back on, sitting on the forgotten comforter and looking at you, quiet, lips pursed.

“I..Uhm,” he starts, and then chuckles, “Damn it all, I can’t even talk right now.” You smile with him, reaching for his arm and pulling him down to lay beside you. He fits beside you so neatly, wrapping an arm around your middle as you use his chest for a pillow. Fingertips brush against your side, comforting and slightly ticklish all at once as his heart pumps beneath your ear. 

You mumble a quiet apology for fantasizing about him without telling him first and he laughs again, and you can hear his heart quicken at the thought. “Well, my dear, if I were honest, I’d need to apologize for the same.” You tilt your head up to catch him staring, his eyes darting away as he smiles and shakes his head. You stretch up to press a kiss to his jaw, patting his chest to remind him not too stay up too late as you pull the comforter up around the both of you. He holds you close and whispers his own good night, his lips brushing gently against your forehead.


	4. Fiddleford

You’re on your knees in the floor of the tub, riding the toy hard and fast. Your thighs are stretched a little far, but it’s a delicious type of painful. As the muscles burn, you feel your hips start to stutter at your own hand.

You groan suddenly, quickly putting a hand to your lips to muffle the sound. You exhale through your nose as your hips gyrate against the toy, the vibration rumbling you closer, _closer._ You feel yourself crashing over the edge, moaning against your palm as you ride out your orgasm.

You’re startled from your alone time by a knock on the door, tensing and hurrying to turn off the toy. You call out a question, looking at the door with worry. As you look at the door, you hold your breath, realizing the door is open just a crack. You can see his hair from the edge of the door, but he doesn’t move inward or make to close the door again.

“Y’alright, honey?” Fiddleford’s voice calls through the door, concern evident. _Shit, you didn’t know you were so loud._ You call back your reply, nodding as if he can see you. “Just bein’ sure! Yer bed should be put together by the time you’re out!” 

His voice fades as he walks away from the door and you lean back against the wall of the tub, panting quietly. Hopefully, you were convincing enough, but you gnaw at your bottom lip in worry. Oh well…You’ll be living with these men from now on, so you might as well get all the embarrassing shit out now, right?

Holding onto the edge of the tub, you stand, grabbing the body wash and squeezing out a handful to wipe away the grime and sweat from the day, still worrying about Fiddleford.

–

Admittedly, you’ve been having trouble keeping focused at work with the boys. Working with them is a different experience entirely when you see one another bleary-eyed and barely awake in the wee hours of the morning. And, though you wouldn’t admit it, you could swear you were growing more and more fond of a certain sweet hillbilly. Honestly, who could have expected that seeing your very professional research partners in their pjs every day would start to become….well, distracting, to say the least.

You yawn as you grumble yourself awake, just shortly after the sun decided to peek through the clouds and blast your bedroom with light. You make a mental note to shop for curtains as you roll out of bed, searching for a pair of shorts. Fumbling around near your hamper, you wrinkle your nose at the smell of stale clothes. You’ve been living here a nearly a week, and at this point used up all of the clothes you’ve unpacked.

Sighing, you start throwing lab coats, t-shirts, trousers, and god-knows-what-else into your hamper. Surely, Ford doesn’t have any sort of ridiculous experiment fermenting in the washer or dryer, so you pull on some pajama shorts and start down the stairs towards the far corner of the house. 

You smile at Stan as he looks up at your from his place on the couch, to which he raises a mug and says, “Coffee’s fresh.” You grin and thank him and he returns the smile with sleepy eyes. It’s cute, really. You smell the coffee as you get closer to the kitchen, spying Ford with a mug curled in his own two hands. He’s grumbling something as his eyes start to droop closed, and you nudge him with a hip. He jumps at the contact, but smiles up at you as you raise a brow at him. “I know, I know, I should be in bed…But that’s what coffee’s for.” He chuckles as you bump him again, nearly jostling the mug to a spilling point, but you smile and continue into the laundry room.

Walking into the laundry room, you’re startled by a shirtless Fiddleford, standing with his arms crossed and watching the washer expectantly. He jumps back too, eyebrows raised and hands coming unraveled to hold them up in surrender. The two of you breathe for a moment, but laugh at your morning jitters and slight embarrassment of sharing a laundry day. 

“Sorry, darlin’. I only just started it, you might be able to throw yours in! Wouldn’t bother me none.” He grins, his hands on his hips now. You thank him, opening up the washer and stopping the cycle as you dig through your hamper, tossing in only about half of the clothes you need washed. As you’re bending down into the washer to toss in clothes, you feel his eyes at the backs of your thighs, and even a little bit higher. You look out of the corner of your eye to see his own flick away, red-cheeked and looking up towards the ceiling as he clears his throat. You smirk to yourself and sneak your own glances at his torso, lean muscle which is usually hidden beneath a slightly-too-large buttoned shirt. It’s a welcome change, the way his chest is peppered with hair, with a trail below his belly button to match. 

He clears his throat and your eyes shoot back up to his face, a teasing glint in his eye as he looms over you, one brow raised. It’s your turn to blush now, but you laugh under his playfully-scrutinizing gaze while you pull away from the washer. Fidds’ face breaks into a grin and he reaches around you to close the lid, his warm palm grazing against your shoulder as he does so. Neither of you moves for a quiet moment, but you can feel his breath closer now, blowing a few strands of hair here and there. His smile falls, lips slightly-parted to tempt you as he leans _oh so slightly closer._

A gruff cough startles the both of you, and he turns away to watch the (empty) dryer instead. You glance up at Stan, who waggles his brows at you with a wink and a, “Don’t worry sugar, I won’t tattle.” Blushing, you smile at him and playfully punch his shoulder, taking a step out of the laundry room and back towards the kitchen to pour yourself a mug of coffee to knock you out of….whatever that may have been. 

–

Time had gotten away from you, a bit. A few treks to and from the forest later, you were arriving back home with tired eyes, and the last of your clean clothes now absolutely trashed. Stan had stayed out to keep Ford safe from whatever the hell he’d been chasing after out there, but it’s _technically_ your day off and you _still_ went out and now here you are, t-shirt muddied and otherwise in need of a shower. You grumble under your breath as you walk through the threshold of the cabin, remembering much too late that you had thrown clothes into the washer. 

You step quickly, as though the faster you get to the washer will negate the four hours you had left them steeping in the water. They’d definitely have that mildew smell on them by now, damn it, and you really wanted to wear those jeans tomorrow….

In your worry, you open up the washer to find it empty. Eyebrows raised, you move to open the dryer next, finding it as empty as the washer. You sigh in relief, remembering Fiddleford had shared the washer with you, so likely he’d stayed behind to get it finished up, thank god. You step lightly up the stairs toward his room, rounding the corner and humming softly. Before you can call his name, you hear a quiet noise of contemplation from his room. You crane your neck to spy in, staying a little behind to catch a glance.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, apparently he’d been folding both his own and your clothes, the sweet man. But now he looks…distracted, to say the least. In one of his hands, a pair of his own slacks, and in the other– _oh, dear._ You didn’t know _that_ pair of undies had ended up in the hamper, and now your research partner is holding the lace in his palm, eyes wide, and cheeks growing more and more red. 

You feel yourself flush in response, moving to dart into his room to hide your indiscretion before he can judge you anymore, but the expression on his face stops you. It’s not judgment, or disgust, but he’s biting into his bottom lip, moving the trousers in his other hand aside as he inspects the lace further. His throat bobs, fingers of his free hand dancing to rest at his own thigh. He mumbles something you can’t quite hear, and you almost feel wrong for seeing him at an intimate (and highly unprofessional) moment, but you purse your lips and press your thighs together as you sit at the edge of the stairs, watching him between the bars of the banister. 

His eyes flutter closed, his thumb running against the edge of the lace as his free hand draws tantalizingly closer to the erection becoming more pronounced at his lap. A hiss escapes Fiddleford’s mouth, teeth releasing his bottom lip to reveal it once more, now red and puffy and _oh, god you want to kiss him._ A groan escapes those parted lips as he grinds against the heel of his hand, relief evident on his face at the blessing of friction. You nibble your lip, your own fingers wandering to settle between your legs, just barely teasing yourself as you watch him.

Nimble fingers pull at the button and fly of his jeans, and you would be impressed that he got them undone one-handed if it weren’t for the look on his face, flustered and panting through his nose to keep himself quiet. His hand disappears beneath his waistband, the outline of his knuckles pressing against the stretchy fabric of his underwear. In his other hand, satin and lace lay crumpled in his palm, the cloth gently twisted around a few fingers.

Your stomach flutters when he groans your name, and your fingers tease between your legs more fervently, hips circling to match his pace. You bite back a whine, but a shaky breath escapes you. You could swear when you look back at him, there’s the faintest hint of a smirk at his lips, but it melts away around another moan. You press your thighs closer together, the budding heat between them causing you to shudder. 

“Didn’t your Mama ever tell ya never to spy on folks?” Your blood runs cold as your head snaps up, looking through the banister to see him, smirking with one hand at his groin and the other tangled in the lacy fabric. 

You stammer a half-baked excuse as you stand to leave, but you’ve been caught red-handed. His eyes find your wrist between your legs, and he looks damn _giddy._ A small part of you wants to yell at him, but the grin plastered on his face is playful. He knew exactly what he was doing, the _ass._ Ford gives Fidds less credit than he’s due, the man is smart.

You rebut that, _maybe you were just looking for the laundry that he stole,_ but he just shrugs, “Thought I’d do something nice for’ya, was all. Sure, I got a bit carried away, but you’re the one watchin’ me in this predicament.” He opens his hand, letting the lace unravel from his fingers. Your undies dangle from his fingertips and he shakes them playfully in your direction. “D’ya really wear these, sweet pea? I’d, ah..Love to see.”

A blush spreads up your cheeks, but more than anything this sounds like an _invitation._ You open your mouth to say something, but a kind smile rests at his lips and he pats the edge of the bed beside him, “Only if you want. I…could’a absolutely misread the situation, and if that’s the case I’ll, erm…promptly see myself back to Palo Alto.” One of his hands reaches up to rub behind his neck awkwardly, the blush in his cheeks reflecting some in his glasses. A snicker escapes you and he looks at you with a curious smile, then realizes he’s rubbed your undies against the back of his neck and laughs with you. 

You take one step towards his room, still a bit embarrassed and worried to be caught in the act by the rest of your research team. You know that Fidds and yourself would never hear the end of it if you two were caught hooking up, but the budding heat between your legs argues otherwise. He looks at you expectantly from the edge of the bed, putting down the fabric and moving the other folded laundry aside as he stands. When he’s fully upright, his unfastened pants fall undignified to the floor with a clatter of his forgotten belt. You both laugh, but he just kicks out of the pants. You’re hit with a new wave of fondness for him as he stands in front of you in his briefs, a slightly-askew button up, and nothing else. You think you must really have it bad for him as you take another step closer.

When your feet cross the threshold to his room, he’s already upon you. Quick hands land at your hips and he ducks his head to kiss you. A groan escapes you as his fingertips press into your skin, and he takes the opportunity to run his tongue against your bottom lip. You stumble at the height difference, balancing with a step back as you kiss him but he leans into the movement, pressing you against the wood of the door until it shuts with a click.

When he pulls away, his eyes are bright, glasses slightly askew on his nose. You must have a look on your face, because he grins cheekily at you and kisses your forehead. You laugh, fixing his glasses back to their rightful place and he thanks you with a wink, “Wouldn’t wanna miss any o’ this.”

Fiddleford’s hands squeeze at your hips, almost like reminding you that they’re there. The look in his eye is a question that he doesn’t have to ask, and you answer with your lips at his neck, pressing bruising kisses along his throat. He groans, hot breath tickling against your ear as his hands slide lower, squeezing your ass in both palms. You kiss him again, then again, feeling his hardness press against your hip. He grinds up against you as his lips leave yours, kissing down your throat.

A hand leaves your ass and he tugs at the hem of your shirt, warm fingers already teasing the skin beneath. You nod and the fabric is over your head and tossed away before you know it. You’re interrupted from your thoughts by his lips against the top of one breast, peeking out from your bra. You reach behind yourself and pull your bra away, tossing it to land beside your shirt somewhere in the floor of his room. There’s a long, quiet moment where Fiddleford is still, ogling you. You catch his eye and he blushes, a smile playing at his lips as he ducks to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling against the raised nub.

You whine, pressing your chest up to meet his mouth as your own hands trail down his chest, fingertips teasing at the waistband of his briefs. His groan resonates against your skin and you shudder, his tongue teasing lower. Your free hand tugs at the collar of his shirt, pulling his lips back to crash against yours. You tug at the waistband of his briefs and he starts to fumble with your own pants. He pushes you further into the door, your shoulder blades hitting the wood with a hiss as he pulls you free from your clothes. He swallows, his throat bobbing at the sight of you in front of him. You flush, moving to cover yourself before he grabs your hands and kisses the palms. You look at him curiously as he leads your arms to wrap around his neck, his free hand tracing down your breast, then to grip at your lovehandle, then your ass.

Without much warning, he lifts you off your feet. You make an undignified squeak as he evens out the height difference with a cocky grin. Your legs settle around his waist, circling your hips against his own. His grin melts away, a shuddering breath hissing between his teeth at the friction. He fumbles for a second and shifts you around, but when he’s still again you realize he’s taken off his briefs, the leaky head of his cock pressing up against your entrance. His palm returns beneath you, and you silently remark at the strength this lanky man has been hiding from you as he shifts you in his arms, bringing a hand between the two of you.

The warm pads of his fingers brush against your heat as his thumb circles against your clit. His lips kiss down your neck, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he presses his fingers into you. You whine, shifting your hips to push him further. A huff of a laugh escapes his lips, the breath tickling against your neck as he mutters something about patience and you not having any, but you groan that _you don’t care,_ riding down against his fingers with your own hands teasing at his cock. He sighs at your touch, pulling his fingers away to let you align his cock with your entrance. You feel his hot grasp at your ass again as you sink down his length, taking him to the hilt. 

There’s a patient moment between you, Fidds’ breath shuddering at your chest as he rests his forehead against your shoulder. He moves first, his hips slowly pumping up against you as you feel yourself bounce against him. The pace quickens almost as soon as it’s set, his hips rolling against yours with a grunt. You breathe a whine as he fucks you against the door, one of your hands leaving his neck and brushing against his lips. He gives your fingertip a quick lick and nods, motioning down between you. Your fingers find your clit, brushing against the sensitive nub while he encourages you, soft murmurs of your name falling from his lips between each pant of desperation. You’re both already so close, the heat in the pit of your stomach beginning to boil over. He presses his chest against yours and you inwardly swear at yourself for not tearing the fabric off of him when you had a chance, the heat between you becoming too, _too much_ as you crash over the edge, whining his name while you ride out your orgasm.

Fiddleford comes not too long after, his nails digging little half-moons into the skin of your ass. He kisses your neck as he pulls out from you, carefully setting you back on your feet and steadying your shaky legs with an arm around your middle. He unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way and slips it from his shoulders, wrapping the fabric around you. You slide your arms into the (too-long) sleeves and lean against him, a lazy sort of smile at the edge of your mouth. His lips travel to your jaw, then land on your lips again, pressing soft smooches against them again, and again. 

“Iffin’ I’m honest, sweet pea,” He starts after you catch your breath, leading you to his bed after a few more kisses, “I, ah…Know what you did that first night you were here. And a few nights after. These…walls ain’t too thick.” He chuckles, embarrassed. You flush and he smiles again, pulling the covers aside to let you slide in. “Y’shouldn’t worry too much, though. I’ve just got excellent hearing.” He winks at you as you curl into his side, kissing your forehead and twirling a piece of your hair on his finger. 

“Fiddleford! Assuming you’re quite finished with my research partner, I’d like to request her _back,_ please and thank you!” 

You both tense as Ford’s amused baritone resonates up the stairs, and you look at Fiddleford, amused despite your embarrassment. _Excellent hearing, huh?_

He silences you with a long, slow kiss, grumbling against your lips that you’re his research partner too, y’know. You laugh while you kiss him back, snuggling close against him as your tiredness overtakes you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!
> 
> I love all your comments and requests, thanks so much!! <3


End file.
